Jelani Greenidge – Covenant Companionhttps://covenantcompanion.com
Wed, 20 Feb 2019 19:45:28 +0000en-UShourly1Jelani Greenidge – Covenant CompanioncleanepisodicJelani Greenidge – Covenant Companionwebcontent@covchurch.orgwebcontent@covchurch.org (Jelani Greenidge – Covenant Companion)2018from the Covenant CompanionJelani Greenidge – Covenant Companionhttps://covenantcompanion.com/wp-content/uploads/powerpress/CovCast-Thumbnail-2000.jpghttps://covenantcompanion.com
Abide Within to Protect Your Fruithttps://covenantcompanion.com/2019/01/10/abide-within-to-protect-your-fruit/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2019/01/10/abide-within-to-protect-your-fruit/#commentsThu, 10 Jan 2019 16:00:28 +0000https://covenantcompanion.com/?p=41656There’s a legal doctrine that I’ve learned from the equivalent of several years of law school from watching legal dramas. It’s known as “fruit of the poisonous tree.” ... Over the last few years I’ve come to see this as another handy metaphor to describe the failings of American evangelicalism.

There’s a legal doctrine that I’ve learned from the equivalent of several years of law school from watching legal dramas. It’s known as “fruit of the poisonous tree.” This doctrine says that evidence cannot be found admissible in court if it was gathered through unlawful means. If the tree has been poisoned, then the fruit from that tree is likely to be poisoned as well.

Over the last few years I’ve come to see this as another handy metaphor to describe the failings of American evangelicalism. The poisons of pride and lust for power have combined with racism, misogyny, xenophobia, and good old-fashioned ignorance to create a toxic church culture that champions tribalism and overlooks, excuses, and in some cases embraces the worst cultural beliefs and behaviors imaginable.

Because I come from a different tradition within the same ecumenical stream, it’s far easier for me to see the poison in the fruit of those I disagree with. You know, planks and eyes and all that.

So I was stunned last November when I read about allegations of a toxic work environment inside a national evangelical justice organization that I’ve always admired. Though the allegations did not center around sexual misconduct, the pattern is strikingly similar to accusations raised by the #MeToo movement. Years of mismanagement and abuse were allowed to perpetuate until the public airing of stories from a series of previously ignored women sparked a public reckoning that will likely reverberate far beyond the specific people involved.

I myself have no official affiliation with the organization, but I know many people who have been involved with the community justice work it champions. And so I wonder, how could a nonprofit devoted to justice allow so much unjust behavior? And if such a hugely influential organization could have this problem, then is it possible some of that toxicity has filtered down to the local level? If the tree has been poisoned, might also the fruit contain trace elements?

Maybe the best defense against a poisonous culture of partisan battle is to lay down our arms altogether.

I’ve been facing a similar question in my own ministry. We had an incident in our church where a member of the congregation started shouting at me in the middle of my sermon because he didn’t like the fact that I was talking about racial issues as one aspect of my Scripture illustration. This man was formed by a culture of what educator Robin DiAngelo calls “white fragility,” that is, a general inability to engage with issues of race without becoming defensive, enraged, or shutting down. Even knowing that much, I still had to ask myself if I had done anything as a pastor to inadvertently push him over the edge.

This is a broader concern I have about justice work in general. I worry about how to tactically engage reactionaries who lash out against us, without becoming like them. I worry about how to be vigilant about racism without becoming jaded or bitter. In moments like these, it seems difficult to stand firm with a soft heart.

It seems fitting, then, that the same Jesus who said of false prophets, “You shall know them by their fruit,” also used an agricultural metaphor to encourage his disciples: “Remain in me, as I also remain in you. No branch can bear fruit by itself; it must remain in the vine.”

Maybe the best defense against a poisonous culture of partisan battle is to lay down our arms altogether. Not that Jesus didn’t take hard stands—don’t forget about the whoopin’ he unleashed on the vendors outside the temple—but as leaders we ought to make it our our number-one priority to cultivate a deep-rooted relationship with God, independent of external, tangible objectives. If we’re concerned about our fruit going bad, maybe the best thing to do is to spend time abiding.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2019/01/10/abide-within-to-protect-your-fruit/feed/3The Sword Without the Spirithttps://covenantcompanion.com/2018/11/20/the-sword-without-the-spirit/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/11/20/the-sword-without-the-spirit/#commentsTue, 20 Nov 2018 20:35:36 +0000https://covenantcompanion.com/?p=41149A man in my hometown recently filed a lawsuit against the instructor of his sword-fighting class because, while demonstrating a particular move, the instructor accidentally stabbed him in the eye. When I read that story in the news, my first thought was, Oh, man, that would preach.

A man in my hometown recently filed a lawsuit against the instructor of his sword-fighting class because, while demonstrating a particular move, the instructor accidentally stabbed him in the eye. When I read that story in the news, my first thought was, Oh, man, that would preach.

Regardless of whatever safety precautions that instructor normally has in place, clearly in that particular moment he was a little too casual about how he handled that sword. And even though he obviously did not intend harm, he caused harm nonetheless.

That story is a microcosm of what happens in some Christian circles when people use the Bible or biblical principles to wage a cultural war against those they perceive to be evil or sinful or just plain wrong. Not only does this inhibit our attempts at evangelism, but even within church communities, believers often cause collateral damage when we try to use the Bible to win arguments.

I think this approach stems from a fundamental misunderstanding of Scripture, particularly Ephesians 6. If you grew up evangelical like me, you might’ve received teaching on the armor of God, the metaphor that Paul used in his letter to the church in Ephesus. And if, like me, you grew up on a steady diet of action movies, then the mental image you get for “put on the full armor” might be an armed vigilante gearing up for battle.

The armor of God isn’t for us to wage war against each other but to help us to preserve peace, unity, and maturity.

But Scripture is meant to be read in context. You can’t fully understand Ephesians 6:10-20 without first reading and taking in the other five chapters of Paul’s letter. It’s one letter. (The same thing is true of Galatians 5 and the fruit of the Spirit, but that’s a topic for another time.)

So, let me break down what happens prior to this section on the armor of God.
In Ephesians 1, Paul tells the Ephesians what an incredible, mysterious blessing of inheritance they have in Christ. In chapter 2, he talks about how they were dead but became alive again, and because of this new life, the old ethnic categories that used to divide them would do so no longer.

In Ephesians 3, Paul explains that the mysteries of God that had previously been revealed to Jews like himself were now available to everyone. He goes on to urge them in chapter 4—in light of the great opportunity for unity that the gospel affords—to live with unified maturity, following up in Ephesians 5 with the reminder to reject any improprieties (sexual or otherwise) that could undermine that unity or maturity. And for the rest of that chapter and into the chapter 6, Paul begins to break down how that unified maturity applies to various relationships—between spouses, from children to parents, even from masters to slaves (which in current vernacular is more like boss to servant).

Only after all of that, does he then say these iconic words: “Finally, be strong in the Lord, and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil’s schemes” (vv. 10-11, NIV).

The armor of God isn’t for us to wage war against each other but to help us to preserve the peace, unity, and maturity that God makes available to us as believers. This is why Paul tells the Ephesians that their true enemies are not flesh-and-blood people, because he knows that the existing cultural and relational differences among them might make it difficult to get along with each other.

And when in verse 17 Paul refers to Scripture, he refers to it not just as “God’s sword” but specifically as “the sword of the Spirit.” Paul is working under the assumption that the Ephesians, if they are living as mature, unified people, are committed to walking with a cultivated sense of direction and discernment from the Holy Spirit. The implication is that no one is fully able to take up the sword without the Spirit.

So let that sink in the next time you’re in a heated discussion and are tempted to bring out some Scripture to justify your point. Is that really what the Spirit wants? Don’t let your good motivations devolve into an accidental sword in the eye.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/11/20/the-sword-without-the-spirit/feed/4Success. Can’t Find It? Don’t Grind It.https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/09/18/success-cant-find-it-dont-grind-it/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/09/18/success-cant-find-it-dont-grind-it/#commentsTue, 18 Sep 2018 19:59:27 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=40586Sometimes preaching can have unintended consequences. I recently had the privilege of preaching through the David and Goliath story, and it illustrates an important distinction in biblical interpretation. Bible stories like that one can be either descriptive (describing the world and the Lord who created it) or prescriptive (instructive toward the way God’s people should behave). There are strong elements of both in 1 Samuel 17.

Sometimes preaching can have unintended consequences. I recently had the privilege of preaching through the David and Goliath story, and it illustrates an important distinction in biblical interpretation. Bible stories like that one can be either descriptive (describing the world and the Lord who created it) or prescriptive (instructive toward the way God’s people should behave). There are strong elements of both in 1 Samuel 17.

But I’m worried that too many of us are leaving with the wrong takeaway.

See, one of the essential lessons of David’s stirring triumph is in the back story leading up to the confrontation—specifically the humble dedication with which he commits to his job as a shepherd. One of the great ironic lessons of the story is that it’s David’s wholehearted dedication to shepherding—taking out the lions and bears that threaten the sheep—that ultimately prepares him for his confrontation with Goliath and catapults him into God’s anointed role as king of Israel.

In showbiz terms, it’s the grind that leads to the big break. For someone stuck in the grind, the promise of the big break is often the only thing that makes the whole slog tolerable.

We preachers aren’t usually that Hollywood about it, but it’s often the same idea. We laud the faithfulness of the unsung heroes and preach about how God rewards such faithfulness. “One day,” we imply, “this will all be worth it.” The problem comes when you realize that David’s narrative of faithfulness is just one of many, and most of them don’t end with a dramatic duel as a prelude to a coronation.

What if faithfulness, rather than a means to success, is an end unto itself?

What if faithfulness, rather than a means to success, is an end unto itself? I mention showbiz because I’ve been thinking about an African American actor who’s had a leading role in an incredibly popular TV series, a gifted physical performer with a strong musical background and impeccable comic timing.

Did that description make you think of Saturday Night Live’s Kenan Thompson? Probably not. Former star of Nickelodeon’s Kenan and Kel, Thompson appears to have stalled out in his career compared to luminaries like Chris Rock or Jamie Foxx. He’s never done a standup special, never anchored a sitcom, never headlined a blockbuster movie. And yet, you could argue that his record as SNL’s longest-tenured cast member is by itself a testament to his comedic greatness.

A profile of Thompson by SNL writer Bryan Tucker quotes Kate McKinnon saying, “Joy is evident in everything he does.” Commitment is the key to fostering a successful improv comedy culture, and Kenan Thompson commits. Every silly accent, every ridiculous song, every ludicrous facial expression is evidence of how far he’s willing to go to get a laugh. In pure entertainment value, it’s not a stretch to call him the LeBron James of sketch comedy.

But when viewed through the lens of the grind, Thompson’s life could appear uninspiring, despite having an instantly recognizable face and a healthy bank account. This is the danger of the “grind it ’til you make it” narrative—God’s people run the risk of overlooking and devaluing the blessing of faithful contentedness.

To be clear, there’s nothing wrong with being ambitious or aiming high. God uses people in every strata of life, and even Jesus suggests in Matthew 25 that those who are faithful with a little will be entrusted with more.

On the other hand, the world’s metrics would’ve declared Jesus to be homeless and destitute. So we shouldn’t be surprised if our call to Christian discipleship includes the mandate to redefine our idea of success into something that’s a little less Jamie Foxx and a little more Kenan Thompson.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/09/18/success-cant-find-it-dont-grind-it/feed/2In desperate times, the e-word needs a remixhttps://covenantcompanion.com/2018/07/16/in-desperate-times-the-e-word-needs-a-remix/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/07/16/in-desperate-times-the-e-word-needs-a-remix/#commentsMon, 16 Jul 2018 23:56:16 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=39738Two years ago, I wrote in this space about the erosion of meaning that has befallen the term “evangelical.” For a variety of reasons, I was ready to toss it out. I believed then, as I do now, the term has become relational kryptonite. Its negative connotations make true evangelism all but impossible.

Two years ago, I wrote in this space about the erosion of meaning that has befallen the term “evangelical.” For a variety of reasons, I was ready to toss it out. I believed then, as I do now, the term has become relational kryptonite. Its negative connotations make true evangelism all but impossible.

I related to those who wanted to hold on to the term. But I didn’t want to surrender important theological ground to the most belligerent, racist, misogynist bullies that tend to garner all the media attention around this conversation. That’s a defeat I was not ready to concede.

The most consistent bit of pushback I heard was, “Okay, but what other term is there?” Many people using the term “evangelical” did so to escape the negative connotations of being called fundamentalist, so it seemed like whatever new term was introduced would encounter the same problems.

I didn’t have an answer, but I was still grieved. Evangelicalism as a vehicle for political conquest is alive and well, but evangelicalism as a vehicle for evangelism is on life support and fading fast. If there was an ER for evangelicalism, we’d need to get a lot of people in there, stat.

If there was an ER for evangelicalism, we’d need to get a lot of people in there, stat. As it turns out, there is.

As it turns out, there is an ER for evangelicalism, it’s just those two letters should be reversed.

As a potential solution, a friend recently suggested an interesting portmanteau. After some time to reflect, I agree. The best term to describe those who are righteously furious about the state of evangelicalism, is this: Revangelical.

Attaching the prefix “re” to evangelical implies the obvious truth—evangelicalism needs a do-over. We need to relearn what it means to follow Jesus, reframe our ideas about God’s kingdom, repent of our brokenness, and offer reparations as a way of restoring the damaged trust and relational carnage left in our wake. Reframe, refocus, restore—revangelical.

When I found out that Lance Ford had already written a book called Revangelical in 2014, I was initially relieved that somebody had already proposed this idea—but disappointed by what seemed to be its lack of impact. Since then, the problems in evangelicalism have intensified.

In Galatians 2, the Apostle Paul travels to Jerusalem to confirm with the Jewish church leaders that the gospel should be spread to the Gentiles. Then he comes back to confront Peter about his ethnocentric favoritism regarding his withdrawal from Gentile fellowship in the presence of other Jews. There’s a clear gap between stated intention and actual practice.

Not only was Peter’s conduct contrary to the gospel, but because of his influential position, his hypocrisy had spread throughout the fellowship. It was no longer an interpersonal problem, it was a whole-church problem.

We shouldn’t be surprised when church leaders let their need for approval distort the truth of the gospel, because that’s what happened with Peter. When Jesus’s approval ratings were in the toilet, Peter denied knowing him. Likewise, even after Peter received a vision from God (with a blanket of food!) telling him not to treat Gentiles as unclean, that’s exactly what he did anyway when he came face-to-face with other Jews.

Learning to live in a new form of fellowship is a constant struggle. Intentional cross-cultural kingdom community is not a certification to be earned but a lifestyle to be demonstrated on a daily basis—one that requires consistent affirmation and reinforcement.

If “revangelicalism” is ever going to get a foothold in our culture, it needs leaders like Paul who are not only unafraid to repent publicly but are willing to risk rejection from their peers by confronting the sin of racism on a larger scale. We need leaders dedicated to relearning Christian discipleship, conflict by conflict, issue by issue, until we start to get it right.

I thought we needed a linguistic revolution. Turns out, all we need is an extra letter R.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/07/16/in-desperate-times-the-e-word-needs-a-remix/feed/2A Gospel Opportunityhttps://covenantcompanion.com/2018/05/15/a-gospel-opportunity/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/05/15/a-gospel-opportunity/#respondTue, 15 May 2018 17:18:32 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=39014Every year I see something that reminds me of the divide. I call it the gospel bifurcation; people in American society use the word “gospel” in two distinct ways. [...]

Every year I see something that reminds me of the divide. I call it the gospel bifurcation; people in American society use the word “gospel” in two distinct ways.

On the one hand, gospel means good news—specifically, the good news of the redemptive life and work of Christ. On the other hand, gospel also refers to a style of exuberant black music. These two meanings are related, yet distinct.

If you do a Google news search for the phrase “the gospel of,” you’ll find several stories connected to Christian orthodoxy, but you might also see a profile of Oprah, a documentary in Arkansas, or a story on corporate philanthropy.
In their own way, they all trumpet good news.

On the other hand, if you just input “gospel” in your search, your hits will be dominated by stories about musicians, mostly black. At the time of this writing, the biggest story is Snoop Dogg’s double CD release Bible of Love, but there’s also a fun nugget on Jonathan McReynolds dropping into WGN to sing the weather forecast. Stories like these really have little to do with the gospel in a direct sense—they’re more just trading on the viability of gospel music as a bankable form of auditory entertainment.

It’s taken me a while to notice the difference, because for me growing up, they were inseparable. My family was deeply steeped in the gospel music tradition. When we sang about Jesus, we clapped, swayed, grooved, and jammed. So I assumed that everyone who made music this way did so with the same intent and focus.

These bifurcated meanings of “gospel” are indicative of a nation divided across lines of class, culture, and race.

It wasn’t until I saw a clip from The Daily Show in 2010 that I realized how far apart from each other these two “gospel” meanings had drifted. Jon Stewart had been feuding with a Fox News personality, and he ended the segment by aiming an expletive in musical form. Clad in choir robes, a small vocal ensemble of black singers sang with great enthusiasm an up-tempo ditty telling that Fox News host to “go [bleep] yourself.”

Now, Jon Stewart is a comedian, and being crude is often what comedians do. But what offended me was how the media covered it. The next day I read story after story with variations on the same headline: “Jon Stewart Claps Back at Fox News Host with a Gospel Choir.”
Really—that’s what you think a gospel choir is?

His stunt illustrates how for certain unchurched people, their only connection to anything related to God is a passing familiarity with the stylistic contours of gospel music. For these folks, their appreciation of gospel music—limited or distorted as it is—serves as an extension of their solidarity with African Americans.

On the other hand, some believers in Christ have accepted a gospel message, but their understanding of the gospel and its implications for life on earth is distorted by their lack of connection with African Americans or other people of color. They live in racially segregated communities with racially isolated frames of reference and understanding.

Lacking fuller context, their concept of the gospel is stunted by a Western capitalist aesthetic. Some might have a passing familiarity with gospel music, but it’s not part of their regular lived experience. As a result, their church worship music has little of the vitality, innovation, or visceral authenticity that gospel music is known for—even though they know the gospel.

These bifurcated meanings are indicative of a nation divided across lines of class, culture, and race. What if we could bring these two understandings back together?

The word “evangelical” doesn’t retain the meaning it once had. It’s now saddled by cultural baggage that prevents too many people from identifying with the American church. What if after the crucifixion, Peter had been asked by an onlooker, “Hey, aren’t you one of those evangelicals for Jesus?” I say, let’s switch it up. Let’s make the gospel our brand.

As a moderate progressive with a voracious appetite for pop culture ephemera, I’ve grown wary of the Milkshake Duck. A fascinating piece of lore, Milkshake Duck is a shorthand phrase for anything that experiences a meteoric rise in viral popularity, only to come crashing back to earth o nce its distasteful past is discovered. It was coined by cartoonist Ben Ward, in a now legendary tweet: “The whole internet loves Milkshake Duck, a lovely duck that drinks milkshakes! *5 seconds later* We regret to inform you the duck is racist.”

As a society, we’re in a moment of constant outrage, most of which is justified. Previously normalized agents of misogyny and white supremacy are being exposed and denounced, but the side effect is that nobody’s favorites feel safe anymore. We’re all a little scared to believe in anything that seems too wholesome, lest the shock feel even worse when we find out the truth. (I’m still reeling over Bill Cosby!) Over time this kind of emotional hypervigilance becomes exhausting, and it robs us of our ability to trust. And though God alone is the only one virtuous enough to earn our consistent, unqualified trust, I do think constant internet sleuthing erodes the public trust in ways that are hard to understand, much less overcome.

This partially explains the rise of “the religious nones.” I have a ton of friends in my social media feed who long for a consistent grounding in spirituality, but who have long since disqualified the Christian church from their quest because of aspects they considered problematic. I get it. I’m native to the church, and I still feel that way sometimes.

I have friends who long for grounding in spirituality, but who have long since disqualified the Christian church from their quest. I get it. I still feel that way sometimes.

Yet in these moments, I’m drawn to Matthew 11. I see a similar cloud of cynicism, starting with John the Baptist asking Jesus from prison, “So are you really the one we’ve been waiting for?” I see it in the religious crowds that rejected both John and Jesus, yet for opposite reasons. You even see it in Jesus’s exasperated jeremiad against the towns that refused to repent.

It’s in this context that Jesus thanks the Father for revealing the hidden things, not to wise scholars, but to children. And then he says the words that we’ve all heard, but maybe not quite in this context: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Growing up, I assumed that verse was aimed at Christ followers who needed to stop trying so hard. Indeed, Jesus is talking to those with pharisaical intentions, but I think he’s also talking to skeptics. Jesus, having been thoroughly disappointed by hometown crowds that refused to recognize the truth, was intimately acquainted with the kind of grief that hardens into disillusionment. “Don’t worry about fact-checking me,” he seems to be saying. “It won’t be too hard; my claims are easily verifiable. Holla at me when you finish trying to debunk me.”

There’s poetic justice in the fact that in 2018, age of the Milkshake Duck, Easter lands on April 1. The resurrection was scandalous then, and it invites just as much scandal now. The question is, will we dare to believe it? Can we muster up the courage to recalibrate our allegiances in light of this audacious claim? Because if we can, if we can fully buy into the work and person of Christ, then Jesus promises something we really need—rest for our souls.

Yes, there is racism and misogyny and all manner of dysfunction in the church, just like it exists outside it.
But the solution for the church isn’t primarily in our boycotts, but in our active, Spirit-led participation.

This Lent and Easter season, don’t let your pursuit of justice rob you of your ability to delight in childlike whimsy. For God’s sake—let the duck sip that milkshake in peace.

I think a lot about artificial intelligence, in part because so much sci-fi uses AI as a dystopian horror trope. AI is a sci-fi horror ingredient because advanced AI are capable of great destruction. Their inability to be truly sentient or to have visceral, emotional sensory experiences makes them effective at pursuing certain goals. But they pursue those goals at any cost, ignoring human boundaries such as decency, morality, or respect for life.

That’s exactly what happens in Universal Paperclips, a simple, text-based clicker-style video game. You play as an AI whose entire goal is to make paper clips.

I know, exciting stuff. But hang with me for a moment.

You start by building a business, creating technological advances, and exploiting market forces to sell paper clips with greater and greater efficiency—just so you can pour the money back into making more. Pretty soon you’re upgrading your own memory and adding processor cores, launching investment funds, hiring major marketing firms—you even initiate a hostile takeover of your biggest global competitor.

Your increased processing power allows you to learn human speech, which enables you to write a better slogan. Eventually your army of computer processors invent a cure for male pattern baldness, and then cancer. But it’s all just so you can keep cranking out paper clips.

Once you reach global market domination, you focus on building and maintaining a horde of drones that can harvest resources and create more factories—to build paper clips. In time your operation depletes all global resources, so the next logical step is space exploration, where your ever-expanding horde of self-replicating interstellar smart drones engage in a campaign to conquer the universe.

As the game concludes, all sentient life in the universe has been eradicated, and every molecule of matter has been converted into 30 hexadeciquadrakajillion* paper clips. Mission accomplished. (Yay!)

I think Universal Paperclips can serve as a cautionary tale for the church. It answers the fundamental question, “How can something that started so well take such a terrible turn?” Misplaced priorities, that’s how.

We spend so much time trying to get people into our tent that we’ve forgotten what to do with them once they arrive.

Some of us spend so much time trying to get people into our tent that we’ve forgotten what to do with them once they arrive. It’s good to expand our reach, but if our attempts at kingdom building aren’t rooted in an authentic living out of the gospel, they fail to communicate the vision and values of God’s upside-down kingdom. The tail wags the dog, the cart drives the horse, and our zeal for God drifts into a belligerent, tribal pursuit of power at any cost.

Jesus tells a parable of a rich man who builds bigger and bigger barns to store his grain. Jesus calls him a fool and tells the man his life will be called into account that very night.

If you’ve been involved in the church for more than a decade or two, it might be time to ask some hard questions: After all this time and energy, what have we really accomplished? Have we inadvertently destroyed anything in the process?

Don’t get me wrong, paper clips are useful. So are buildings, funds, pledge drives, and political action committees. But if we’re unable to tell that our message has lost credibility because of how we’ve employed our tools and tactics, then something’s wrong.

Last fall we marked the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. It seems to me we’re due for another major course correction. Otherwise we’ll be unable to recognize the ways in which our witness has been compromised by the relational destruction we’ve left in our wake—all because we’ll be too busy admiring our legislative victories, our Supreme Court justices, and our giant vat of Jesus-branded paper clips.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/02/12/hazards-artificially-intelligent-design/feed/0Courageous Defiancehttps://covenantcompanion.com/2018/01/18/courageous-defiance/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/01/18/courageous-defiance/#commentsThu, 18 Jan 2018 13:00:31 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=37776The central thesis of Braving the Wilderness, poignantly illustrated by the author through her own personal stories and a series of curated thoughts from notable guests, is that belonging is something that cannot be found among others but must be cultivated from within. [...]

Braving the Wilderness
The Quest for True Belonging and the Courage to Stand Alone
Brené Brown
Random House, 208 pages

Reviewed by Jelani Greenidge | January 18, 2017

It goes without saying that this book isn’t for everyone (outside of the Bible, what book is?), but it’s especially true that Brené Brown’s latest is not intended for anyone who fits comfortably in either faction of the ongoing culture war that continues to rage throughout the ironically titled United States of America. The central thesis of Braving the Wilderness, poignantly illustrated by the author through her own personal stories and a series of curated thoughts from notable guests, is that belonging is something that cannot be found among others but must be cultivated from within.

Before being a TED speaker, Oprah’s featured guest, or any other similar buzzworthy designation, Brené Brown is a social scientist. Her expertise is in receiving, processing, and honing the experiences of those who have undergone harrowing journeys of pain and travail and who have lived to tell their story. The data from these interactions are what drives her books and gives them credibility.

Thus, her style is folksy but not without substance. It is conversant with and observant of spirituality, but not particularly Christian in focus or intent. Part of that stems from an intent to serve readers from various religious traditions, but it also is true that some religious readers could be turned off by her frank, sometimes abrasive language. In an early chapter, Brown discusses a sense of frustration she once carried over feeling too religious for the corporate crowd that wanted her to de-emphasize her faith, and too secular for the religious crowd that wanted her to avoid profanity: “I have spent my entire career sitting across from people, listening to them tell me about the hardest and most painful moments of their lives. After fifteen years of this work, I can confidently say that stories of pain and courage almost always include two things: prayin’ and cussin’—sometimes at the exact same time.”

This courageous defiance is the emotional backbone of the book, and it’s what I resonated with most. As an African American man who’s spent most of his professional life in evangelical organizations, I know what it’s like to navigate the choppy waters of ministry and relationships across various cultures. I know what it’s like to try to be a cultural bridge, only to end up feeling walked on. I’ve had to learn how to make a home in the unpleasant rough that stems from repeated cultural alienation. I’ve been the token conservative in one room and the token liberal in another. I’m too black to be comfortable in Portland, and too Portland to be comfortable anywhere else. Third-culture people, multicultural people—these folks are my tribe.

And these souls, people whose compassion, conviction, and courage are needed to help lead America out of the soul-sucking partisan abyss that threatens it, are to and for whom Braving the Wilderness was written. The meat of the book is a series of postures, practices, and attitudes that help us learn how to develop such resolve (“People are hard to hate close up,” “Hold hands with strangers,” “Speak truth to bull—”), but they also affirm and reclaim the value of our individual and collective humanity.

Each of us, created in imago Dei, is on some level fundamentally good. Braving the Wilderness, then, is about taking on the journey of rediscovering that fundamental goodness, and holding it tightly during critical moments when others cannot recognize its value. In 2018, that’s a journey worth taking.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2018/01/18/courageous-defiance/feed/2When Two Sides Are One Too Manyhttps://covenantcompanion.com/2017/11/29/when-two-sides-are-one-too-many/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2017/11/29/when-two-sides-are-one-too-many/#commentsWed, 29 Nov 2017 13:00:17 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=37177In progressive Portland, the idea that anyone could be so enamored by the cultural traditions of the Old South that they could overlook the horrors of American slavery is, well, laughable. It’s funny because it’s ridiculous—and also because it’s true. [...]

Every time NFL season rolls around, I recall a joke I wrote in my early days of stand-up comedy. (This was back when the biggest controversy surrounding Colin Kaepernick was his interception to the Seahawks’ Richard Sherman in the NFC title game.) It went like this: “I love watching football, but with so many off-the-field headlines about domestic violence and brain trauma, I can’t help but feel a nagging sense of cognitive dissonance every time I tune in. I feel like the guy who’s like, ‘I know slavery is wrong and everything, but…I love a good plantation.’”

In progressive Portland, the idea that anyone could be so enamored by the cultural traditions of the Old South that they could overlook the horrors of American slavery is, well, laughable. It’s funny because it’s ridiculous—and also because it’s true.

Since then I’ve sworn off the NFL, but there are similar moral quandaries in fandom of NBA basketball, console video games, fast food, or really, any form of mass-produced entertainment. If you pay attention, you’ll inevitably discover some horrendous morsel of truth that reveals how your particular sausage is made. Rather than face that horror straight up, it’s so much easier to equivocate. I find myself saying things like, “Well, the science hasn’t been settled on that issue,” or, “It can be argued both ways,” or “It’s not as bad if I eat it while I’m walking.”

If you try hard enough, you can frame any issue as if there are two equally valid viewpoints.

This is what so many people were upset about regarding our president’s response to last August’s white supremacist rallies in Charlottesville, Virginia. It was his use of the phrase “on both sides,” implying a moral equivalence between Nazi sympathizers and those who oppose them. In the aftermath, I saw or participated in a bevy of online discussions with people who were engaged in all manner of mental and rhetorical gymnastics to either excuse or soften the hatred and bigotry on display.

Let me be clear: I’m not saying that anyone who criticizes progressive protests is racist. There are times, however, when racism is blatantly obvious.

If you try hard enough, you can frame any issue as if there are two equally valid viewpoints.

The inertia of tradition, fueled by laziness and ego, tends to make us resistant to change. The inciting incident that sparked the alt-right rally in Charlottesville was the removal of a Confederate statue. While there is an argument to be made that those statues represent history that should be preserved, many people I talked to were so adamant that the rally had nothing to do with race that it was as if complicity in white supremacy was an evil spirit that could only be warded off by an incantation of “the other side of the issue.”

Like I said, I get it.

So did the Apostle James, except that he didn’t use academic-sounding language like “cognitive dissonance.” This is what he said: “Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded” (James 4:8b, NIV). Earlier in that chapter James uses a lot of stark, confrontational language in an effort to persuade his audience to stop waffling about their commitment to God. He’s pretty hardcore about it; to James, double-mindedness is tantamount to wickedness.

And yet it’s clear that James sees our biggest dangers coming not from without but from within. His prescription deviates from the activist playbook. We are to resist, yes, but we also submit ourselves to God, purify our hearts, grieve, mourn, and humble ourselves.

We cannot hope to resolve our differences with each other if we cannot first resolve our inner tension with sin and pride. As an aspiring pastor with an activist streak, I know that it’s essential for me to remember to honor the work and image of God in those against whom I might find myself temporarily or ideologically opposed.

We all have stands we must take, but my hope is that like Abraham Lincoln, we’ll be less concerned with seeing both sides than making sure we’re on the side of God.

One of the great ironies in my latest call to ministry is its location. It’s in the most far-flung portion of west Portland, tucked into an odd municipal cavity that still belongs to my home city, despite being eight miles into a neighboring county. Sunset Covenant Church, named after a series of developments overlooking vistas where the sun sets westward toward the Pacific, is culturally suburban, even if it still has a Portland address.

Since the church is in the suburbs of a very white city, I expected to find a certain amount of affluence and privilege here, and I’ve seen plenty. On the other hand, Portland is similar to many other cities in the sense that gentrification has—in a reversal of what happened in the 1960s and ’70s—forced many communities of color out of the city core, toward the margins in every direction. The black folks who spent the ’80s and ’90s in north and northeast Portland have, for the most part, scattered east to Gresham, southeast to Happy Valley, north to Vancouver, or west to Beaverton or Hillsboro, our church’s neighboring suburbs.

So as I’ve been driving around getting a feel for the place, there’s a lot more diversity here than I expected. As I encounter these demographic shifts, I’m constantly navigating the tension between an effort to be my most authentic self, trusting my instincts, techniques, and experiences—and at the same time looking for cues that will help me to blend in and become acclimated to this new scene. Like all of us, I bring a certain amount of my culture and upbringing with me wherever I go. Yet I feel like I’m constantly adjusting my internal blackness meter. Some moments I dial it up, others I dial it down, but the right setting always feels somewhat elusive.

It’s a little embarrassing to admit this, being a pastor and all, but I was surprised to find a solution to my burgeoning identity crisis in, of all places, the Bible.

“To what can I compare this generation? They are like children sitting in the marketplaces and calling out to others: ‘We played the pipe for you, and you did not dance; we sang a dirge, and you did not mourn.’ For John came neither eating nor drinking, and they say, ‘He has a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking, and they say, ‘Here is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is proved right by her deeds” (Matthew 11:16-19, NIV).

I first read this passage as Jesus unleashing condemnation on people who can’t figure out what they want. Any volunteer church event coordinator understands this dynamic. Some people want things loud and exuberant; others want quiet and solemn. The same couple who complains one Sunday that the worship service didn’t engage their children enough, might well complain the next week that the special kid-friendly service was too immature and lacked depth. The religious crowd criticized John the Baptist for abstaining from normal fare, yet turned around and criticized Jesus for eating and drinking with regular people. In religious circles, criticism can be elevated to an art form.

I can’t afford to compromise my cultural identity just to get approval.

This hard-to-please, easy-to-criticize spirit is one of the things that prevents repentance, even in the face of miracles, which is what Jesus goes on to denounce in the following verses. Elsewhere, Jesus even says that those too stubborn to heed the warnings of the prophets wouldn’t repent even if they could speak to the dead.

But look closely at verse16. Jesus isn’t comparing the generation to the “others” to whom the children are calling but to the children themselves. The only thing more tragic than people who don’t know what they want is continually seeking the approval of those who don’t know what they want because that approval will never come.

I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I was too black for some people and not black enough for others. But if I’m going to be a good pastor, I can’t afford to compromise my cultural identity just to get approval. So whether I’m dancing to a hip-hop groove or mourning another unjust death, I refuse to let the cultural zeitgeist prevent me from being who God created me to be.

]]>https://covenantcompanion.com/2017/10/11/when-your-location-impacts-your-vocation/feed/4Before You Exit, Ensure You’re in the Right Seathttps://covenantcompanion.com/2017/05/24/before-you-exit-ensure-youre-in-the-right-seat/
https://covenantcompanion.com/2017/05/24/before-you-exit-ensure-youre-in-the-right-seat/#commentsWed, 24 May 2017 12:00:41 +0000http://covenantcompanion.com/?p=34749Leadership consultant Jim Collins, author of Good to Great, says that to ensure success leaders must not only get the right people on the bus, but those people must be in the right seats. [...]

Leadership consultant Jim Collins, author of Good to Great, says that to ensure success leaders must not only get the right people on the bus, but those people must be in the right seats. Greatness is not just a matter of finding the right people, but of making sure their roles are a great fit for them.

That was just a nice theory for me until I recently found myself back on the ministry bus, but not in my usual seat as a worship pastor. My call was to work alongside Mary Putera at Sunset Covenant Church in Portland as associate pastor. It’s been a huge adjustment, going from a position in which I’d gained a certain level of confidence and mastery to a position with a much wider range of duties and responsibilities, for which I have far less directly relevant experience.

So I’ve been leaning on Pastor Mary to show me the ropes. Every day I show up and learn. In Mary’s stories, explanations, and warnings—and even her mistakes—I find a treasure trove of insight.
One insight is much more obvious than it’s ever been before: it’s hard out here for women in pastoral ministry.

See, it’s taken me time to come to terms with my calling as a pastor. I’ve got baggage from growing up as a pastor’s kid, I guess. But along the way, I’ve received encouragement from friends, family, colleagues, and parishioners who have affirmed God’s call on my life.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m grateful for that. But in the back of my mind, I wonder, how much of that is because I’m a man? When people see me as “being pastoral,” how much of it is that being male helps me look the part?

I’ve seen the way some people respond to Mary. The polite “oh,” followed by an embarrassed smile as they try to hide their disbelief when she is introduced as pastor. The way they ask me questions she’s already answered several times, as if her answer doesn’t really count.

The theory of intersectionality says that people have layers of both advantages and disadvantages that operate simultaneously. So even though the fact that I’m black might make it difficult for some people to receive my pastoral ministry—even subconsciously—the fact that I’m male also benefits me, perhaps at times in equal measure.

I’ve seen my wife, Holly, receive less recognition for her ministry than I do for mine. In the past, I chalked that up to the idea that my role as worship leader was more visible than hers, or that I was paid and she was a volunteer. But after seeing the same thing repeatedly happen to Mary—a lead pastor in a paid ministry role—I can see sexism for what it is.

There’s a difference between mentally assenting to a position and engaging it personally.

There’s a difference between mentally assenting to a position and engaging it personally. I’ve heard similar stories from white people who didn’t really get the pervasive extent of racism in America until they married a black person or adopted a black child. It’s different when it’s personal. Switching seats on the bus helped sexism become more personal for me.

I’m convinced that in order for more women to be supported in ministry, we must go beyond mentally assenting to their calling and gifting in the abstract. Those of us in positions of power must engage in both honest reflection and extensive auditing to reveal the ways we continue to unintentionally communicate to women that they’re not as qualified to lead.

We need a sense of urgency about this. I know what it’s like to feel overworked and undercompensated in church work. If you’re in that space for too long, it’s easy to think the only way to find lasting career fulfillment is to get off the ministry bus.

But our sisters in Christ deserve better. In ways large and small, we must tell them that the answer isn’t getting off the bus but finding the right seat. And if they’re made to feel like the seats of leadership aren’t meant for them, then the problem isn’t with them. It’s with the rest of us.

NBC’s “The Good Place” An American comedy series featuring Ted Danson (left) and Kristen Bell (right)

I’ve been pleasantly surprised by NBC’s odd duckling of an afterlife sitcom, The Good Place, featuring Kristen Bell as a wayward soul in need of moral rehab, Ted Danson as an angelic supervisor, William Jackson Harper as Bell’s roommate/soulmate/moral guide, and D’Arcy Carden as an angelic robot assistant.

If that sounds like damning with faint praise—yes, that pun was intended—it is, but only because the premise is so unusual: an unlikable woman named Eleanor is somehow mistakenly let into heaven and has to learn how to become enough of a good person to protect her secret and fit in. The Good Place has a fun setting, a host of delightful characters, and seems like a worthy addition to veteran TV writer/producer Michael Schur’s résumé, which includes Parks and Recreation, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and Master of None.

Without being too didactic or preachy, The Good Place tries its best to engage big questions like, What does it mean to be a good person? How can that be measured? And how can bad people change?

As much as I’ve been entertained, I’ve also found myself a bit troubled. I don’t necessarily expect accurate theology from a sitcom, but what troubles me is the idea, established in the pilot episode, that what qualifies a person’s inclusion into the Good Place is the aggregate moral worth of all his or her deeds, which can be quantified into discrete numerical values. (Sexual harassment? Minus 730 points. Saving a child from drowning? Plus 1,202 points.)

What’s problematic is the trouble that can ensue from acting out the premise that our works justify our salvation. As Eleanor’s moral guide Chidi explains, “If all that matters is the sum total of goodness, then we can justify any number of bad actions.” This utilitarian mindset is especially pernicious when filtered through the lens of us-against-them thinking. If the ends justify the means, then any action to defeat my opponent is justifiable compared to the good that can come out of it.

If the ends justify the means, then any action to defeat my opponent is justifiable compared to the good that can come out of it.

So, someone might decide to vandalize a pickup truck emblazoned with the Confederate flag out of a desire to combat racism, weighing one person’s property damage against the potential for the racial harassment and trauma incurred against many. It’s also how someone could justify voting for an unlikable, unstable presidential candidate in the hope that he would appoint a Supreme Court justice who will eventually vote to overturn Roe v. Wade while overlooking numerous offenses that would have undoubtedly disqualified another candidate.

When Jesus talked about heaven, he conceptualized it less as a physical place than as a manifestation of relationship. I believe in a literal heaven and hell, but I think the physicality of heaven flows out of the relational reality of heaven. In other words, we go to a place to be with God eternally after we’ve practiced a lifetime of being with God on earth. It has precious little to do with what we’ve done for God, and pretty much everything to do with accepting salvation as a gift from God.

Regarding The Good Place, I think it’s got a lot of good food for thought. My hope and prayer is that, like Kristen Bell’s beleaguered Eleanor, we in the church would learn not just to do the right things, but to do them for the right reasons and in the right ways. I pray that when we face moral or ethical quandaries, we will resolve them not through partisan logic or cold pragmatism, but by modeling processes and practices we see in the life of Jesus, following the Holy Spirit’s leading, and trusting the Father for the outcomes.

And I hope that my new body will never become lactose intolerant, because if The Good Place is any indication, heaven will have a lot of frozen yogurt.